


Like Diamonds

by Valast



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, Outlast AU, designer au, eddie is a designer, in later chapters anyways, it's gonna get really gay lads, lisa is a model, waylon and lisa aren't married, waylon becomes a model too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valast/pseuds/Valast
Summary: Waylon never pictured himself as a model. Sure, he was scrawny and tall and Lisa had commented on his looks more than a handful of times, but the spotlight was her thing. Her idea of fun was strutting down a catwalk whereas his was hiding behind the camera. She wore the dresses, Waylon took the photos, and that’s how it’s always been, so why does Gluskin want him to wear it?Or: Amateur photographer meets famous designer through his best friend's connections, accidentally becomes his muse
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park
Comments: 22
Kudos: 129





	1. Snap

**Author's Note:**

> I've been bouncing this idea around my head for a while and I finally put it on paper despite having never written fanfiction before. We'll see how it turns out!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon and Lisa take some photos. Waylon meets a stranger on the way to a wedding.

_Snap_

The sound of a shutter fills the air of the Waylon’s apartment, accompanied by a flash of light  
 _Snap_

 _Snap snap snap_ “Damn.

“Is the lighting still not right?” Lisa’s hands grab the edges of her dress and tug downwards, her picture-perfect smile morphing into a grimace. “ _Jesus_ Way, it doesn’t have to be perfect. I wanna get out of this dress asap so let’s hurry it up before this thing ruptures an organ.”

Waylon rolls his eyes and reaches up to adjust a reflector to his right before hunching back down behind the camera. “Alright, alright, I think it’s fixed now. How’d you end up with something two sizes too small anyways? Doesn’t your agency have your measurements and stuff?”

Lisa snorts. “I have no idea. They sent me a replacement but it's taking too long and the photos are due tomorrow so we make due, right?”  
“Right. We make due.”

He’s lost track of how many photos he’s taken of Lisa over the years. He could probably make an estimate, check the albums stored away on the bookshelf in their office, but he knows as soon as he sees the blurry polaroids from Freshman year of college he’ll get lost in the memories.

“Alright. A couple more and you’re free. You gonna need help getting out of that?” Lisa shoots him a sour expression that sends him laughing. “Sorry, sorry- I meant that thing’s so tight it’s probably like a second skin right? It’s gotta be hard to shed”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “I’m not a snake, Waylon. Jesus, I can’t breathe in this thing.” Another laugh, and his camera flashes.

Lisa practically races out of the room the second they wrap up and Waylon hears the slam of her bedroom door a few moments later. How Lisa ever became a model is beside him. When they met, she barely wore any makeup at all and sweatpants were her go-to. He liked that about her. She didn’t care about the looks she got when she showed up to class in pajama pants and panda slippers, as long as she was comfortable she was happy. Waylon isn’t much different, but who really cares if the man behind the camera is wearing sweatpants and an old band t shirt? It’s not like he’s the one getting his face plastered all over various catalogs. He grabs the camera off it’s stand, unplugs the extra lighting, and gets to work packing everything up. It’s a hassle, but they need the living room for living. One day he’ll get a proper studio, once Lisa has her big break, and then they won't be shooting against the walls of their apartment anymore.

They've been trying so hard to make it. Years of countless photoshoots on their own time and money, periodic calls with agencies and representatives and meetings with any publication that will give them the time of day are finally paying off. Lisa's been getting gigs with brand advertising, and Waylon's been hired for a handful of weddings- not too shabby for a couple of kids from Leadville.

"I think we're gonna get it this time." He says when Lisa emerges from her room, clad in yellow pajamas. "Murkoff is going to sign you for sure."

"I dunno, Waylon." Lisa sounds so hopeless already. "Murkoff is one of the biggest agencies out there. The fact I even qualified for trials is a miracle."

He doesn't want to admit that she's right. He may not know much about the world of modeling beyond photoshoots and headshots, but he knows Murkoff is pretty damn elite. He looked it up when Lisa first proposed the idea of applying and was shocked to find just how much influence the company had over the industry. A spot as one of Murkoff's rookies could change everything for Lisa. He'd told her to go for it, that there was no harm in trying- neither of them really expected her to make it past screening. Things like that just didn't happen to small town nobodies. Somehow though, Lisa made it through. The two of them had celebrated with pizza and booze.

"No harm in trying." That's what he'll keep telling her until she makes it. Because she will make it someday, she has to. They've worked so hard. "I'll get those photos touched up and we'll send them in and order some pizza, maybe watch Godzilla?."

Lisa cracks a smile. "You know I love Godzilla."

Lisa hovers over his shoulder as the two of them sift through the photos. They have to choose three to send in and as always it's a tough decision. Waylon likes the ones where Lisa is smiling- there's a candid shot he took of her laughing that radiates happiness- but Lisa always insists that the serious photos do better. "Let's just try a happy one?" He suggests, circling his mouse around Lisa's grin. The cramped office absorbs her sigh. "Come on, what do I always say, huh?" Lisa rolls her eyes, but she's considering. "Yeah yeah, no harm in trying. Fine, Way, send it in. But if I'm cut because of it, it's on you." Her words may be serious, but her tone doesn't hold any bite. She couldn't blame him if she wanted to. She's too sweet.

It doesn't take long to edit the photos once they're all picked out. Murkoff's specifications forbid any major changes to the model's appearance- only stray hairs, lighting, and background were approved for editing. He calls her in when he's done after about two hours of work and together, they send them in.

"So that's it then." She lets out a shaky breath and Waylon places his hand on hers.

"Now we wait."

"Yeah. Now we wait."

"Godzilla marathon?"

Lisa smiles. "Godzilla marathon."

They calm their nerves with an order of a pepperoni pizza and coke from Manera's and sit in front of their tv with the lights off. It's become a ritual since Sophomore year finals- sitting down and watching every version of Godzilla they can get their hands on to combat their anxiety until they fall asleep. They've never really made it past three. The original is Waylon's favorite, but Lisa always argues that 1998 is the best. "You can't beat the original" he'd scoff, prompting her to roll her eyes and retort with a "Yes you can". They never did agree on which one was superior. Tonight's no different- Lisa makes snarky remarks about the quality of the original and Waylon returns the favor when it's time for 1998. The pizza is polished off by 2 am and by 3, they're fast asleep to the muted sounds of Mothra.

Waylon wakes up to the sound of a leaf blower outside and cranes his head to look at the small digital clock they keep on the bookshelf. It reads 11:30 and he groans, turning back to look up at the ceiling. Lisa is gone, no doubt, to her part time job as a waitress downtown. She always takes the noon shift on Thursdays. He's got a wedding to shoot a couple hours south later at five, but there's time for him to sleep in a little longer. By two he's up and about, shoveling stale cereal into his mouth while he waits for the shower to warm up. He's thinking, as a yawn stretches his jaw wide, that maybe he shouldn't have stayed up so late the night before a big gig. Lisa set it up for him during a shoot- like the angel she is- after the supervisor offhandedly mentioned her wedding. He nearly choked to death when Lisa told him how much they were offering.

The old suit Waylon dons after his shower hardly fits at all. The pants are too short and the blazer is too big and he's sure he looks like an idiot but the bride, Katherine, had insisted on the dress code. He definitely should invest in something that fits better, but money is tight and all he can do is try to make it work. Eyes shift from the mirror to the closet where their shoes lay, and as eyes scan over his options he begins to realize an old suit from college is the least of his problems. The only shoes Waylon owns are some sneakers and a pair of converse, neither of which look very professional. Eventually, he settles on the converse. At least, he thinks to himself, the black matches. He doesn't have the time (or the money) to get anything new before he has to arrive at the venue. He'll make due. He always makes due.

An old asylum is an odd place for a wedding, but Waylon supposes it has its charms with the old brickwork and mountain top view. The ride up there is long and winding and he feels like he might throw up so he pulls over, opens a window and slowly inhales. The seat of his old volvo creaks when he leans back and he turns his head to look out at the scenery while he waits for his stomach to settle.

A few cars pass him by over the course of about thirty minutes and he finds the fresh air is not as beneficial as he previously thought. Each and every car has left a dust cloud in its wake, triggering a burning sensation in his lungs and prompting him to fish his inhaler out of the glove box. It's old, and the cap is stuck, and he doesn't think to roll up his window as another car passes him by. Dust fills his lungs and suddenly he's tugging at the damn thing like his life depends on it (because he's pretty sure it does). His chest constricts as he continues to fail. Is the damn thing super glued on? He's not going to die up here is he? He keeps coughing. It hurts.

He's too preoccupied with frantically trying to pry the lid off his inhaler that he doesn't notice the vehicle that just passed by had come to a complete stop a few meters ahead.

"Are you alright?" The voice startles him and he nearly drops the inhaler, head snapping sideways to see a man leaning down outside his window. He opens his mouth to answer but all he can manage is a strangled sound. Ice blue eyes regard him with calmness, a gloved hand reaching out to take the inhaler from Waylon's grasp and press it against his lips. "Breathe in." He instructs in an even tone, and Waylon does as he says while his thumb presses down on the cartridge. Medicine floods Waylon's lungs and the sting subsides some, but he's still having trouble breathing. There's something pressing into his left palm. He doesn't notice.

"Oh god, oh _god_ -" it should be working, right? Why does he feel like his chest is going to cave in on itself? The stranger's eyes are flicking about the car, looking for something, and then he turns his attention to someone who'd gotten out of the other car. Something is yelled, he can't focus on it, and then a hand is placing itself on his shoulder.

"You're having a panic attack." The man speaks slowly and his gaze never leaves Waylon's eyes. "Can you breath in again for me?" Waylon takes a shaky breath and the man smiles. "Good. Now hold it. One, two, three, and exhale. One, two, three." Air leaves the photographer's lungs and the stranger gives an encouraging nod. "Again. In, one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three. And out, one, two, three." He does this for what seems like a minute and then, as Waylon lets out a much more solid breath, he passes a water bottle through the window.

Waylon twists the cap off and the water slides down his throat, bringing relief with each gulp he takes until he's drained the whole thing. "Thank you." He manages, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth, and the stranger smiles.

"You're welcome. Are you feeling better?"

"A little." His lungs still sting, but his breathing is normal again and his throat is no longer parched. He didn't even realize he was thirsty until now. "Thank you." Waylon repeats, and the man waves his hand dismissively.

"It was nothing, really, I'm just glad I decided to check."  
So the guy pulled over just to check on him? Come to think of it, he was checking out his car earlier and the gloves he's wearing don't look like they'd leave any fingerprints. Waylon's brow furrows. Are there robbers up here? Is he one? He's definitely an intimidating size, but he's also wearing a suit and that car a few meters ahead looks too fancy to be a getaway vehicle. he's being dramatic again. Obviously.

He does his best to sit up straight and places a hand on the wheel. He's fine. Everything is fine. He's more embarrassed now than anything.

"Thank you again. You really saved me there. I gotta go set up before the wedding and stuff, but I'm really grateful. I'm alright now. I'm really sorry for any trouble this might've been."

Bowtie straightens and Waylon hears the sound of a hand patting the roof of his car. "Don't worry so much. I'm glad you're alright. Drive safely."

He watches the man wave to someone nearby, a bald guy who follows him back to the car. A chauffeur, he concludes, when he holds the passenger door open for Bowtie and climbs into the driver's side shortly after. He uncurls his stinging fist and almost laughs. It seems he'd gotten the cap off after all.


	2. Alterations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon touches bases with the bride, meets Eddie formally, and considers an odd request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been able to upload chapter 2 pretty quickly because of winter break but from now on updates will come around once a week. I'm really grateful to everyone who has given my fic a chance and hope you stick around! If anyone wants to talk to me about this fic or weddie or outlast or anything, find me at @gord0s on tumblr.

It's 3:30 pm by the time Waylon pulls up to the gates of the old asylum and rolls down his window for the approaching guard.

"ID please." He says monotonously, holding out his palm, and Waylon's face scrunches with confusion.

"I'm uh.. The photographer? For the wedding?"

The guard, his name tag says Joseph, curls and straightens his fingers in a give it here gesture.

"No media. There are important people in attendance."

Media? "Oh. Right. Uh. Paparazzi. No i'm.. Lynn hired me."

A sigh.

"I need to see your ID and check you off the guest list." 

"Oh, uh, one second." He flashes the guard a sheepish grin as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and slips the card from its place.

"Name?"

Did he forget to give his name? "I'm Waylon Park."

Joseph's expression remains stone cold as he looks at the clipboard in his hand, the ID, Waylon, and back at the clipboard. After about a minute, he hands the card back and presses the button on a small remote that dangles from his breast pocket. The gates swing open, and without another word, the guard shuffles back to his post.

Jesus, Waylon thinks, pressing down on the gas pedal. Security? There's guests important enough to need security? He's starting to think he should have done some research on Lynn. The toll booths are closed- Lynn and Blake had rented the place out for the day. Nearly half the parking lot is full already. He selects a spot in the shade, under a tree, and pops open the trunk to grab his supplies. A camera, a tripod, a bunch of batteries, a small light, and a reflector, all crammed into a duffle bag that he slings over his shoulder. A second camera is hung around his neck by the strap.

He's only been to Mount Massive Asylum twice. Once when he was a little boy and again on a date with Lynn. The tours were alright. It was cool to see all of the old equipment and he was enthralled by the ghost stories as a kid, but rotting structures and dusty halls aren't really his idea of a fun time. There's been some talk of renovating the old hospital over the years and the front hall did get refurbished when he was about fifteen, but nothing's really been done since. A town as small as Leadville doesn't have a budget big enough to undertake a project that large. Several people are bustling about the foyer when he makes it up the concrete steps, setting up chairs in two rows separated by a strip of white fabric. They face a beflowered altar, various plants and petals spilling over the side in a way that reminds Waylon of some sort of overgrown jungle. The foliage continues up the staircase, stopping right at the topmost step above which an antsy looking woman in a baby blue dress waits. Her nervous expression morphs into one of relief when she sees Waylon headed in her direction, waving a hand at him to hurry up the stairs.

"You're the camera guy right?" She says in a thick Jersey accent and looks him up and down. "You got the camera and everything so I'm guessing you're the camera guy. Come on, Lynn wants to give you the rundown." 

She hardly gives him time to make it up the rest of the staircase until she turns and sashays down the hall, looking over her shoulder about halfway to make sure he's following. A little plaque has been hung on the doorknob that says Women's Dressing Room, and Waylon's looks to the bridesmaid in slight confusion.

"Bride's in here, gettin' all gussied up and stuff- I've got to go check on the groomsmen."

Waylon's furrowed brow must give his hesitation away because she laughs and opens the door for him before pressing a gentle palm against his back to urge him forward. "Go in silly, all the girls are dressed. Nobody'll bite you, I promise." 

Lynn looks stunning in her A-line dress, the crystal beading on the skirt shimmering in the light as a familiar face fusses over the hem.

"You really should have called me sooner." He chides in that cool even tone, "I can remedy it well enough but if you had come in for a proper fitting-"

Lynn gives a sigh that makes it clear they’ve had this conversation before.

“Yes Edward I know, but I was busy. Models don’t scout themselves.”

The bridesmaids titter at the window- something about a producer. Edward tutts and sticks a pin through carefully pinched fabric. He reaches towards the little box of pins at his side and eyes catch sight of Waylon.

"Well hello again." He sounds vaguely amused. "I'm glad to see you made it the rest of the way. I'm dreadfully sorry we didn't have time for a proper introduction earlier. Would you care to now?"

Waylon clears his throat awkwardly.“Uh, I’m Waylon Park, it's uh.. really nice to meet you?”

Eddie opens his mouth. Lynn beats him to it. 

“Oh, Waylon! Lisa’s friend, right?”

Lynn turns slightly to her left (which makes Edward, who had turned his attention back to the work at hand hiss in annoyance as her skirt shifts) and holds out a hand for Waylon to shake. “I’m Lynn and this handsome devil is Edward, though I'm sure he needs no introduction.”

With a hum, Edward looks up from the dress.

“Please, call me Eddie. It’s nice to formally meet you darling, are you feeling better?”

“Yeah I am. Thanks again.”

Waylon manages a sheepish smile. Is he supposed to know who Eddie is? He’s never seen the dude before in his life. Lynn is right though, he’s definitely handsome with those icy eyes and chiseled jawbone.

“So are you like, a model or something?” His question has Eddie raising an eyebrow and the room bursting into laughter. Waylon feels his ears burning and subconsciously untucks some dirty blonde locks from behind them to cover the tips. 

“You’re joking, right?” One of the bridesmaids pipes up. Waylon’s brow only furrows. “Oh my god you aren’t! Have you not picked up an issue of Vogue lately? Do you live under a rock? He’s-” Eddie comes to his rescue with a silencing glare. 

“I make it a point to remain humble.” The smooth sternness in Eddie’s tone sends shivers down Waylon’s spine. “My brand is popular, yes, but it in no way means those I come in contact with are obligated to know who I am.” Eddie tilts his head to deliver a crooked smile that makes Waylon release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Anyways-” Lynn interjects, “-Thank you for coming on such short notice. Our photographer cancelled last minute and it was too late to run a background check on anyone new but since you had one last month, you were a perfect fit.” Waylon had almost forgotten about the background check from his involvement with Lisa’s temporary contract last month. 

“Oh yeah it’s no problem. Hard to pass up a little extra pocket cash.” he shrugs. “So there’s some pretty important people coming huh? High class and all that? If you needed a background check.”

“Yes.” Lynn confirms, smile sobering into a serious stare. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t want to sound all uptight but there’s a lot of important people here who value their privacy and rely on good image to earn the favor of the public eye. A bad or incriminating photo could mean trouble so I want you to make sure every photo you shoot remains confidential between you Blake and I.”

It sounds like a pretty reasonable request. “Yeah. I totally get it. I'll just uh.." what's the best way to go about this? He's thinking it'll be easier if they don't have to do a bunch of exchanges so maybe if Lynn kept everything it would be better? "Maybe I'll take the photos and give you the SD card at the end of the night? Would that work? And then if you want me to edit anything you can email me a file with the photos you like." SD cards aren't cheap but Waylon's making more than enough at this wedding to spare an extra couple bucks.

Lynn seems pleased enough by the idea, judging by the smile that spreads across her face. "That's a great idea. I had a good feeling about you." 

"On the subject, if you would be so kind-" Eddie clears his throat. "I'm not too fond of my image being taken without my consent. Too many... _unsavory_ experiences. Please notify me if you wish for a photograph."

He's definitely not a model then, if he's so uptight about photographs. Eddie's attention is focused more on the task at hand than Waylon, jaw firmly set and eyes locked onto the white fabric. Waylon realizes he's already pinned three quarters of the skirt's edge.

"Yeah, that's no problem at all." How does he work so fast without stabbing himself? Waylon's sure if he gave it a shot his fingers would look akin to swiss cheese by the time he was done. “Would you uh… mind if I took a few right now?”

Eddie considers for a moment before nodding. “Yes that’s fine. Such photos could benefit my business. The public tends to adore images of me working on my designs.”

Waylon’s eyes widen. Eddie made this dress? “So you’re a designer then?”

The girls giggle. Eddie chuckles. “Yes indeed. Wedding attire is my specialty, though I do tend to dabble on occasion.”

“Oh wow. That’s amazing.” Color him impressed. “How long did it take you?”

“Three months, including the veil.” Eddie hums. “If you’d like that photo, i’d suggest taking it now. I’m nearly finished.”

The skirt of Lynn's dress is indeed, almost entirely pinned up. “Oh yeah. Right. Sorry.” his ears are warm again. 

It takes about a minute to power up the camera around his neck and adjust the settings with a few test shots before Waylon kneels on the ground to get the perfect photo. The light from the window frames Lynn perfectly and casts shadows down on Eddie in just the right way. Occasionally, Eddie and Lynn lean their heads together, whispering and nodding. Occasionally their glances flicker over to Waylon. Eddie seems uptight and Lynn, concerned. Does Eddie hate having his photo taken that much? He decides to cut it short.

“Alright. Got it. Thanks.” The designer’s shoulders seem to relax as Waylon lowers the camera, which confirms his suspicions. Right, okay. He won't take as many photos of Eddie during the reception then. It's a wedding after all, he should be able to enjoy himself without worrying. “Is there anything else or should I go take some other photos?”

Lynn steps down from the little stool she’d been standing on as Eddie finishes with the last pin, careful not to undo any of his hard work. With every step she takes towards the mirror, Eddie hovers over the fabric like a father might hover over a child taking their first steps. “Actually, would you mind helping me with something? We’re in a pinch and you’re just what we need.”

"Yeah, totally. I mean that’s what i’m here for right? To help out?” He’d really rather just get to taking photos but if Lynn needs help with decorations or needs him to fetch something from downstairs or whatever, he doesn't mind. She's paying him a lot to do this job, after all. The least he can do is help everything run smoothly. "What is it?"

“I need you to try on a dress for me.” 

Waylon is sure he looks like a fish out of water with his eyes bulging and jaw gaping at Lynn’s request. A dress? Does lynn think he wears dresses or something? Just because he's involved in model photography?

“A-a dress? No no no, you have it wrong. I’m not that kind of-”

“Just for a fitting.” Eddie interrupts. “One of the bridesmaids is late and you’re just about her body type. I need to get these alterations finished within,” he pauses to look at his watch. “The next thirty or so minutes. We are, unfortunately, out of time to wait for her arrival.”

“You can do it in another room if you want.” Lynn offers. “Please Waylon, nobody’s going to judge you for it. He just needs to pin a few things and then you can take it off.”

"I'm sure these fine ladies would have no qualms leaving the room if you so desired. It would be a great help, Waylon." 

Eddie's gentle tone puts him at ease- makes him feel like he understands the dilemma, and maybe he does. He's a man in a world full of models too. 

Waylon would be lying if he said he didn’t let his gaze linger a moment too long on the dress Eddie brings over. It’s satin sheen shimmers in the rays of light the window lets through the way the blue fabric glitters with every movement Eddie makes reminding him an ocean.

“It’s a very simple design darling- easy to slip on and off. You’ll only be in it for five minutes at most. I swear.” Eddie coaxes, one hand gently taking Waylon’s wrist and setting his palm against the dress in his other. It feels smooth, soft, his fingers slide right over the surface and for a moment he imagines how it would feel draped over his body, gliding across his skin as Eddie’s deft hands made alterations, and then-

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I'm late! The flight was delayed and then the driver got sick on the way up but I'm here!” The flustered bridesmaid startles him and he whips his head towards the sound. Lynn was right. She’s about the same size as him, albeit just a tad bustier and half an inch shorter, and now she has to be the one to try it on.

Waylon isn’t sure of the feeling that washes over him as Eddie shoves the dress into her arms and tells her to get dressed in the bathroom. Relief? Disappointment? Both? He manages a weary laugh.

“Saved by the belle I guess.”

Eddie’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes. I suppose so.”


	3. Author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swore i'd never do one of these oh shit

Hi! this will be deleted soon because I have a firey hatred for Author's notes, but I wanted to give you all an update. I've finally got my motivation back over a year later, and decided to continue the story. Along with the continuation, i'll be slowly rewriting and reformatting the first two chapters to make it fit my current writing style. A huge thanks to everyone who'se ever commented, left kudos, or bookmarked. Love you all!


End file.
